


so why do you fill my sorrow?

by spookyscully



Category: Avengers (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, i suck at writing clintasha SORRY
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 16:19:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3388244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyscully/pseuds/spookyscully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't think they'll be the same again after that. </p>
<p>Clintasha.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so why do you fill my sorrow?

He was perched up on the balcony, eyes squinted and gun trained and loaded when he saw her. Her red hair mixed so delicately with her ashen skin, and her lips morphed into perfect pictures whenever she opened them to speak. She grinned graciously at the bellhop who had just set her bags on the ground, and struck up a small conversation with the passing maid. He peered through the eye hole on his rifle and studied one part of her so intently that he almost forgot why he was on that balcony in the first place.

Her eyes.

They told a completely different story from the one her expression was trying to deliver. Stone cold and a chilling green, her eyes gave off hundreds and hundreds of bundled and caged emotions that seemed to have been swimming viciously in her mind simultaneously. They more than attracted him, they allured him. Her eyes possessed such power that no one, he thought, could fail to be bewitched by such an enchantment.

His target finally closed her door, and when she blinked his memories of debriefing and being instructed became clear in his mind. He then knew why he was there. More importantly, he knew what he had to do.

He inched his hand slowly over to where the trigger was located, and pools of sweat began to flood from his forehead. When he took a small moment to look away and wipe his forehead off with his sleeve, there she was. Right beside him.

Her hands were clutching weapons and her face bore a completely different expression from the one she plastered on only minutes before.

"You're not going to kill me." Her accent was quite thick, but he was able to understand her nonetheless. She spoke with such confidence that he almost laughed until he realized that she was completely and utterly correct.

He wasn't.

He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

And he never regretted that decision.

//

He'd asked her for her name, but she remained silent. He groaned, as that was not the first time he requested that piece of information be exposed by her. "I know your code name- Black Widow- but I mean..." He paused briefly and rested his head on top of his hand. "It'd be nicer to call each other by our real names, ya'nno? Since we're gonna be partners and all." He gave a quick wink, which only seemed to aggravate her further, so he then decided to just give up for the day.

"That big man over there will take you back to your cell, now." He told her while pointing a finger at the large man in the corner. "His name's Barry. Just s'you know. He doesn't keep his name a secret, see." He grinned at Barry and shuddered only momentarily when all he received in return was a glare as cool as ice.

"I'm Clint, by the way. Clint Barton." He called to her as Barry began to lead her back to her cell in their current SHIED base.

"Natalia Romanova." She took a while to respond, and he barely heard her when she did, but when her words registered in his mind, he smiled.

//

"You need a new name."

Natalia raised an eyebrow at her new found partner as she munched on a french fry. "Excuse me?"

"Your name," Clint continued while picking at a piece of pizza, "it's too...Russian."

"Due to the fact that I am Russian." Natalia countered, shooting Clint a look of uncertainty. "Why? What are you thinking?"

Clint shrugged. "I dunno, I mean, you've been working for SHIELD for a while now. You're not an assassin anymore, and you're not Russian, either. Not really." The idea Clint was proposing, that she shed her skin and try to rid herself of her past, scared and excited her at the same time. She did wish to start anew, to mold into a completely new person, but she was never particularly good at letting any shred of memory she had go.

"So you're saying, what, that you want to change my name?" Natalia bit firmly down on her lip and was satisfied when she could taste a hint of blood.

"No. Well, yes, but not change it, really. Just...Americanize it."

"Is that even a word?"

"Sure it is." Clint declared. "I just used it, didn't I?" Natalia rolled her eyes, and Clint used all that he had in him so not to fall under their spell.

"Whatever."

It took almost an hour, but after loud bickering took place and not-so-friendly insults were thrown at each other, they finally decided on a name.

Natasha Romanoff.

//

For their first mission that required them to go out of the country together, it was originally going fairly well. The only thing that was increasingly becoming a bother was the amount of wind, but that problem could easily be solved with a jacket and a hood. However, Clint complained nonetheless.

"Does it have to be so cold here? Jesus." He pulled his jacket around him tighter while Natasha sighed.

"Will you shut up already? It's not even that cold, god." Her tone was laced with an icy venom, but Clint was not phased in the least bit. He had grown accustom to her frequent mood swings, being the target for almost every insult that came out of her mouth. "You wouldn't last an hour in Russia," she muttered, to which Clint groaned loudly.

"That seems to be your catchphrase this week."

"Shut up," she snapped. "You're distracting me. We're supposed to be keeping our eye out for the dealer, remember?"

"Well you started it." Clint shot back. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver and began to twirl it- his way of showing her that his patience was wearing thin.

"Started what?" Natasha hissed quietly, a signal for him to keep his voice down.

"This argument we're having." Clint said loudly. Natasha shushed him.

"Do you hear that?" She grabbed onto Clint's arm to stop him from moving.

"Hear what?" Clint questioned, pulling back from Natasha's grasp and moving forward.

That's when a gunshot was fired.

//

When he opened his eyes, he felt as if he would be blinded by the hospital's fluorescent light. His eyelids were proving to be incredibly heavy, and when he shifted his side hurt like hell. "I'm alive," he muttered to no one but himself, blinking quickly to assure his eyelids would remain open.

"No kidding, brainless." He turned his head to see Natasha sitting in a stiff-looking chair beside his bed. Although she was smiling and she moved as if she had just arrived there, he could see the bags under her eyes, and he knew that she had not left his side.

"They get me?" He asked, attempting to motion towards his side wound. Natasha nodded.

"They heard you talking." She explained before adding, "I told you to be quiet."

Clint grinned despite the increasing pain in his side. "No, if I remember correctly, you said something along the lines of, 'shut up'." Natasha went to shove him, but took note once again of his condition and sat back down.

"Shut up." They both laughed. Suddenly Natasha stood up and ran her fingers through her hair. It was quite greasy, but at that moment she did not care. "You scared me, asshole." She muttered before sighing loudly. Clint glanced downward.

"Sorry."

One look from Natasha told him that she would forgive him this time, but if he ever pulled something like that again (like it was _his_ fault) he would not be off the hook as easily.

//

The first time he realized that he loved her was different from the first time he did something about it.

They were sitting on his bed, munching on various snack foods and popcorn's and watching old movies. The movie playing at that moment was some old cartoon that Clint had never heard of, and it was easily the most ridiculous thing he'd ever seen in his life. As he grabbed another handful of popcorn he watched Natasha stare at the screen. There was a smile playing at her lips, and when something she found particularly funny happened on screen, she laughed. Her head was thrown back and her arms were wrapped around her stomach. The laugh was melodic, creating songs and rhythms that were completely new to him. It was beautiful, and then and there was when he realized.

He didn't say anything, though. He was sure that if he even mentioned the word love she would combust, so he remained silent.

Clint was content with simply observing Natasha, anyway.

//

It was raining when he kissed her.

The day had been particularly boring, as he and Natasha were both recovering from their most recent mission in Germany. After laying in bed for five hours without any food or form of human contact, Clint had made the decision to get out of bed and go outside.

As he slowly made his way down the hallway, he caught a glimpse of a figure hovering over a table. Once Clint had gotten close enough he could clearly see that it was Natasha. He grinned and tapped her on the shoulder, almost as a seven-year-old would. "Wanna go outside?" He questioned when she turned to face him.

"Not really," she told him while taking a bite of toast. Clint pouted.

"Please?" Silence consumed them for a few minutes while each of them studied the other.

"Fine." Natasha rolled her eyes and placed her toast back onto her plate. "God, you're such a five-year-old sometimes."

"I'd like to think I'm at least seven." Clint grinned as he led her towards the nearest exit. The door had a large window on its center, and Clint's pace quickened as he imagined breathing in the outdoor air. He immediately stopped, however, once he noticed the droplets of water cascading down from the sky. "On second thought," he said, swiftly turning around, "eating toast inside sounds like a better idea." Natasha raised an eyebrow, unwilling to move.

"Are you seriously one of _those_ people?" Her tone was one of great annoyance and disappointment. Clint moved to face her and raised an eyebrow himself.

"What?"

"One of those people," she repeated with great displeasure, "who for some ungodly reason can't stand to be in the rain for one second, as if the water is some kind of acid that will burn away their already soaking wet flesh." Clint shrugged, now slightly embarrassed, and looked towards the ground.

"I just don't like it, okay?" His demeanor displayed some form of seriousness, but when he looked up at Natasha he grinned. His grin was so goofy that she knew, while Clint was not a fan of the rain, it would not absolutely kill him to go out and relish in it for a moment or two.

So she took a few steps forward and pushed the large door open. The sound of water falling onto pavement was highly audible, and while it irked Clint, the noise somehow seemed to have a calming effect on Natasha. "You coming?" She asked while smiling, because the rain was pouring down in buckets now and- oh god, she loved the rain.

"Of course." She held the door open long enough for him to step onto the concrete, and then she let it close with a loud bang. After taking a few steps further away from the building, the two friends simply stood, enjoying not only the rain creating puddles around their feet but each other's company as well.

"You like this." It wasn't a question.

"Yeah," he agreed, his eyes trained on her face. She smiled, and that was when he realized that he **_really_** liked this. "I do."

"Good." They remained silent for a few minutes longer, until the rain decided to come down even harder and Natasha's hair was clinging to her face like a magnet.

"You've got a little-"

"I see that, Clint." Apparently she did not see, however, because even though she placed many strands of hair behind her ear she did not place nearly enough to clear her face entirely.

"Here," he offered, removing more bundles of hair from her face. Natasha rolled her eyes but allowed him to continue nevertheless. His free hand caressed her cheek, and then they looked cautiously at each other, as if what they were doing was wrong. Their stares burned holes in the other's eyes, and as a result of that his face became increasingly closer to her's.

Clint was not entirely sure how Natasha's lips ended up on his own, but he was not complaining. Instead he was enjoying it, savoring each and every movement her lips made against his until it was suddenly over.

"You kissed me." Again, it was not a question.

"You kissed back."

That was not a question, either.

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of suck at writing but I've wanted to write a clintasha fic for a while since they are one of my main OTPs and this sort of happened. Oops?
> 
> Please leave a review, even if it is only like two words they still mean a lot. :)
> 
> Oh, and did anyone catch the Mockingjay quote I threw in there? Write the quote in your review and you get two cookies :}


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